Daily Dose (July 8 – 11)

TUESDAY JULY 8 —

This I know: Our world is full of “curtains” and walls. Assuming somehow, walls make us safer. So, we curtain people in, and we curtain people out, both literally and spiritually. Regardless of our “intent”, it leads to grief, fear, division, and too often, violence.
Because curtains or walls cannot serve the purpose of Grace, or healing, or compassion, or the soul.

West Wing has always been one of my TV comfort foods. I don’t know how many times I’ve watched the series. But it never gets old. Even better with dark chocolate and a glass of wine.
In one episode, Toby Ziegler, White House Communications Director, is called to the National Mall (the land between the Lincoln Memorial and the U.S. Capitol), because his business card is found in the coat of a homeless man who has died of exposure from extreme cold. The explanation is simple. Toby had given his coat to Goodwill.
But the experience affects Toby deeply. From a tattoo he had seen on the man’s arm, he knew the man to be a veteran. Back in his office he calls Veteran Affairs, with hope of figuring out the man’s story, or at least finding his next of kin. There is no luck. Mandy (White House Media Consultant) walks into Toby’s office while he is on another long hold. “What’s going on?”
“A homeless Korean war veteran died from exposure last night on the Mall. I don’t know if his family has been contacted. I don’t know what kind of burial…”  He trails off, clearly frustrated.
“How do you know him?” Mandy asks.
“I don’t.”
“Then what does it matter?”
This made my heart stop.
And I think I know why death tolls don’t readily compute, because our minds reel, and we have no way to connect with their narratives or storylines. Only when there is a name, and a face, does it feel real.
So, what do we do? I was schooled to know what to say. The “right” words, mostly for appearance. As if what I had to say, was more important than that I’m here. And I forget the power of simply being present. A witness. One person at a time. A bestower of grace and light in a dark world.
And, when I do not feel that grounding (as if nothing matters), where do I park my anxiety? If I’m only reacting, outrage easily wins. And not just outrage, but superlative simplification; this is all a hoax etc. That never works out so well. I trade kinder, wiser and better for seething and judgmental.
There is nothing small about compassion. There is nothing small about making a difference in the life of one human being.
But sometimes, we need an experience (like Toby), to rock our world. Or, to invite us to hit the reset button. You know, back to what makes us human.
To say Yes, to whatever connects us, as humans,
as children of God,
as people who need compassion and mercy for sustenance,
as people who cannot walk this journey alone.
And to say No, to whatever divides or demeans or belittles
or degrades or incites hate and exclusion.
And I must speak that Yes, and speak that No,
not only with my voice, but with my hands and my feet.
Lord, hear my prayer.

As Martin Luther King Jr. reminds us, “Never, never be afraid to do what’s right, especially if the well-being of a person or animal is at stake. Society’s punishments are small compared to the wounds we inflict on our soul when we look the other way.”

WEDNESDAY JULY 9 — A young girl who returns home from school in tears. Her Mother worried, asked, “Sweetheart, what happened?”
“It was awful,” the girl told her Mother. “My best friend’s cat died. And she was very, very sad. And I don’t think I’m a good best friend, because I didn’t know the right words to say, to try to help her.”
“What did you do?” the mother asked. “I just held her hand and cried with her all day.”
Here’s the deal: There is nothing small about compassion.
There is nothing small about knowing—at our core—that we are walking one another home.
And in a world where pain is so real, it is tempting to close our eyes, or put up a curtain to prevent us from seeing or “knowing”.
But here’s the deal: As long as there are “curtains” (and walls), I cannot receive.
As long as there are curtains, I cannot give.
As long as there are curtains, we cannot connect.
As long as there are curtains, I cannot be a place of sanctuary and grace and inclusion and sufficiency and healing.
Curtains say, “You are not welcome here.”
No curtains say, “You are welcome here.”
Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. reminded us, “We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.”
And in reading daily news, I take M. Gessen’s affirmation to heart, “The reason you should care about this is not that it could happen to you but that it is already happening to others. It is happening to people who, we claim, have rights just because we are human. It is happening to me, personally.”

Yes, all of this is good in theory. And when things get tough, I do tend to like things in theory. There is the story told of the eminent philosopher who died and arrived in heaven. He stood at a crossroads. One sign pointed, “This way to the Kingdom of God.” Another sign said: “This way to a Discussion about the Kingdom of God.”
Pain and brokenness feel so real now, it is no surprise the discussion group sounds so tempting.

Let us listen to Mother Teresa, who reminded us, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
And let us take with us this week, a prayer from Kate Bowler, to help us practice our connection and belonging:
“May we all risk being known, practicing intimacy with the way we listen and share and ask each other questions (even when we might not like the answers).
May we learn how to love when it makes no sense, and be loved when our humanity feels like a liability.
May we find ourselves reminded that we belong to one another. Neighbors. Strangers. Friends. All wrapped up together in this web of beautiful, terrible inter-dependence.
Amen.”
(Thank you Kate Bowler)

THURSDAY JULY 10 — When the world feels small and dark and frightful, it is not surprising we choose to do our darndest to protect our hearts. We do not easily give it away.
This happens when we live from the notion (evaluation) that we carry only so much emotional capital—you know, that precious commodity which allows us to pay attention, to focus, to contribute, to care, to forgive, to set free. So, with “only so much” available, it goes without saying that conservation is called for. And it becomes our default. And we end up with this conversation in our mind. “There is no need to spend empathy on just anybody,” we say. “We need to pick and choose.” To be blunt, “there are those who deserve care, and those who don’t.”
Lord, help us.
And we lose track of the values that sustain us. And the values at the very core of our being.

There is nothing small about compassion.
Let me repeat: There is nothing small about compassion.
It is the thread of life woven through each day. As humans—every one made in the image of God—we touch, love, give, include, receive and redeem. So, it’s time to rethink our notion about the scarcity of compassion.
This is an affirmation of what is already alive and well within each of us. We have the capacity to be places of shelter. And hope. And inclusion. And healing.
Our dignity or value or capacity is not tied to the way we look or how we dress. Or the size of our wallet or the digits of our zip code. Not by how we are judged by mankind, because our own souls are imbued with the power to work miracles to change water into wine, the meek into the mighty, to change base metal into pure gold. (Thank you, Congressman John Lewis)
Whatever it is, the light of compassion brings people out of hiding, out of unease and out of fear. The light that invites courage and renewal and resilience.
And that, well, that is light worth spilling. And it is the light of Grace.
“No dark fate determines the future. We do. Each day and each moment, we are able to create and re-create our lives and the very quality of human life on our planet. This is the power we wield.” Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu (The Book of Joy).

I’ve been remembering the motto from the 2017 Winter Special Olympics held in Austria, “You can’t be a bystander. Choose to include.” Worth repeating on a daily basis.

A prayer:
Spirit of truth, move us beyond fear.
Give us humility to confess our own brokenness.
Empower us to dismantle harmful systems of faith.
Teach us what it means to follow Jesus in real, loving community.
We mourn the harm. But we’re rising into something truer.
Where the broken are honored. The oppressed are lifted.
And the truth sets us free.
(A special thanks to the author)

FRIDAY JULY 11 — It is blueberry pancake Sunday. In the kitchen, the young mother works under a deadline and a promise; today before church, blueberry pancakes for her two sons, their favorite breakfast in the whole wide world.
The two boys, aged 5 and 7, are fighting. Rolling on the floor, taking swings at one another over who would get the first pancake.
The mother is stressed and at the end of her rope. So, the fighting proves the final straw. She sees an opportunity for a moral lesson. “Boys,” she shouts. “Sit down! Now, if Jesus were here, he would give the first pancake to his brother.”
Well. That shuts them up.
Then the older brother says to the younger, “I have a great idea. Today, you be Jesus.”
I’m still smiling big. And I wonder. What if today is the day to make a difference in our world?
“I believe in person to person,” Mother Teresa said. “Every person is Christ to me, and since there is only one Jesus, that person is the one person in the world at that moment.”
Okay. That makes me hit the pause button.
And takes my mind to my very favorite story to tell an audience, and to habitually retell myself.
A little boy was having nightmares. The kind that requires a momma’s reassurance. (Dads, at least from my own experience, are typically not wired for nightmare duty.) So, to his momma’s room the boy went, “Momma, momma, I’m having nightmares.”
“It’s okay honey,” she told him, “Here’s what I want you to do. Go back to your room, kneel down by your bed, pray to Jesus, and he’ll fix it.”
Back to his room, the boy knelt by his bed, prayed to Jesus, hopped back in bed, and… more nightmares. All mommas know this story. Back and forth to momma’s room, throughout the night.
On the sixth visit, “Momma, I know, I know the drill. I’m going to go back to my room. I’m going to kneel down by my bed, and pray to Jesus, and he’ll fix it. But before I do that, can I just lay in bed with you, and have you hold me?”
“Sure honey, why?”
“Because sometimes I need Jesus with skin on it.”
Yes. And today, more than ever, we can be—and we need to be—Jesus with skin on it. Voices of mercy. And Compassion. And Welcoming. And Healing.

Prayer for our week…
Great Ocean of Love,
help us turn the tide toward global compassion.
Move through minds and hearts caught
in the choking seaweeds of
indifference and selfishness.
Wash out to sea discrimination and systemic racism,
ignorance, hatred and bigotry.
Let all of this dissolve in your vast waters
of transforming love.
Your indwelling presence is much stronger
than the moon’s energy urging the sea back and forth.
Inspire us to use our energy to overcome
what causes division and inequality among humankind.
Let us not lose heart.
Amen.

Photo… “Hi Terry, thanks for the living proof of grace experienced with your grandmother! Here’s one of my ways to experience grace when the morning glories finally climb up onto my platform feeder and bloom beside the other bright colors coming to our feeder on a July morning here in Shippensburg, PA. Grace,” Bob Keener… Thank you Bob…  and thank you for your photos, please send them to tdh@terryhershey.com